


Undercovers

by powerofxfanfic



Category: The X-Files
Genre: Case Fic, Episode: s06e15 Arcadia, F/M, Romance, Undercover as a Couple, post-episode
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-19
Updated: 2019-02-19
Packaged: 2019-10-31 09:32:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,440
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17846882
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/powerofxfanfic/pseuds/powerofxfanfic
Summary: Post-ArcadiaSummary: They survived their first undercover operation… a little too well. So AD Skinner sends “Rob and Laura” out again to investigate a community with something missing.(I write with script like dialogue. The majority of the conversations are between Mulder and Scully, so they are ‘M’ and ‘S’ (even though they are Rob and Laura).Disclaimer: Not mine. If I had been clever enough to dream up the show, I probably could write something new and fresh. But I’m not and I didn’t. So, I will just borrow Chris Carter, Fox, and 10-13 productions brilliance. Thanks in advance, guys!Feedback is useful on many levels. 1) It does wonders for self-conscious writer’s 2) it helps me decide which direction I want to take my next story 3) I can work out my strengths and weaknesses based on what readers say.





	Undercovers

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I knew that Scully would be less than pleased with the news. A small, inclusive community known as ‘Les chasseurs’ or the Hunters, had several members disappear mysteriously. Skinner thought that he and Scully had done decent work in Arcadia, so he decided to send them back in, as Laura and Rob. She wasn’t going to be happy…she seemed set on choosing our names if an undercover situation arrived. I perked up when I heard the door to the office open, offering her my best smile. 

M-I have good news and bad news, Scully. 

She shut the door behind her and sighed. 

S-Why do I feel like this is the underlying subtext for most of our cases, Mulder? 

Ouch. That secretly hurt, but this was no time to examine the layers of that statement. 

M-We did such a stellar job in Arcadia that Skinner wants us on a new case…as…

S-Laura and Rob? Damn it, Mulder. I wanted to pick our names!

M-Yes, I know. And I told him that wholeheartedly, I promise. But I guess he was trying to keep up us in character. 

She sighed again, clearly upset about the name incident. She dropped into her chair, running a hand through her fiery strands. This probably wasn’t the ideal time to tell her how beautiful she was, regardless of the alias. Most women would appreciate a compliment in this situation. But Scully wasn’t most women.

M-I really tried to get us off the case. I suggested other agents, other departments. I even broke down and threw local law enforcement under the bus, but Skinner was insistent. Consequences of being the best, right? 

Scully picked up the file from my desk, flipped through the pages, not really looking at it, but doing a decent job at feigning interest. I wanted to point out that her ability to fake interest may be why were assigned to this new fiasco, but opted not to. I would just nail the final stake in my proverbial coffin. 

S-The bureau hates us, Mulder. 

M-If you want to be negative about it…

She rolls her eyes. I don’t understand why she hated undercover work so much. I thought the last case was rather interesting, fun, refreshing. 

M-I promise to be more conscientious about the toilet seat…and dirty running clothes…and dishes. 

S-Well, if that’s the case, sign me up! 

I may not be an expert on much, but I know sarcasm. That was Scully sarcasm at its best. 

M-I’m sure I can get us assigned to a case near the MUFON conference. I have a vacation day or two to burn. 

She shakes her head no, emphatically. 

S-I’ll see you at my apartment in a couple hours. I have to go home and dig my wife wardrobe back out. 

I give her two thumbs up before adding…

M-Feel free to toss in that honeymoon lingerie collection. 

She balls up the post it note from the front of the file and throws it at me, missing me by a lot. She stands and straightens her suit jacket and picks her briefcase back up, turning to leave. This was going to be fun, I tell myself. And I am not even put off by the slam of the office door.   
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I point out the sign “Now entering Tuxedo Park”. 

M-Sounds fancy, don’t you think? 

S-I don’t understand why these gated communities are brought under such scrutiny. Is it really criminal to live in million dollar homes, surrounded by tall trees, pristine pools, and   
PGA approved golf courses? Or do we as a society shun what we can’t afford. 

M-This particular community is known as “The Hunters”. I don’t think middle class society has to point out that the mere name of this place suggests something a bit ominous. 

S-I just don’t understand why it can’t be seen for what it possibly is. A group of people living their best lives in a community probably built by a man who is 2% Native American and wanted to instill a sense of history and heritage in his vision. 

I tap the steering while we wait for the guard to let us in. The front gate was over fifteen feet high and monitored by six angled security cameras. The keypad is encased in bullet proof glass. To bypass the glass you need a key card. Then you enter your code. 

M-Seems like they want to keep people in as much as they want to keep people out, don’t you think? 

S-Can you blame them? 

The gate finally relented, opening to suburban bliss. Each lot was precisely the same size, with perfectly manicured lawns. The houses differed only slightly. One had red shutters while another had navy. Outside of that, each home was a stately, oversized brick monstrosity. I drove ahead looking for our house number, 1013. Scully taps my shoulder and points to our gargantuan dynasty. 

M-My God, could you imagine how many FBI agents it would take to cover the mortgage? I don’t know about you, but my Christmas bonus may cover the electric bill in this place. 

Scully laughs, an almost genuine laugh, as we step out of the car. I grab our bags, like a good fake husband. 

M-Moving guys should be here tomorrow morning, but luckily these places come furnished. 

S-That’s the weirdest thing about these places, Mul…Rob…the idea that everyone is satisfied with monotony. 

M-Well, Laura, our cookie cutter oasis waits. I hope the movers remember to grab the box with my Elvis memorabilia so we can decorate. 

Scully looks unimpressed by this. I thought everyone liked Elvis on some level or another. She really is a special woman.   
We step inside and find our welcome package. Actually, it is a welcome bible with several folders. 

S-Look…the house comes complete with bedtime reading. 

M-If you don’t want to read, I can think of some other things we can do at bedtime, Laura. 

She turns to me, that expression on her face. I don’t know what it means-but I have narrowed it down to several possibilities: disappointment, flirting, discomfort, lust, a combination of all four? The agent in me wants to ask what it means, but the man in me is too afraid what the answer will be. 

S-It is Thursday, so we can join the community for a potluck dinner and community awareness meeting. Probably our best bet for getting to know our neighbors, don’t you think? 

M-Potluck? As in we have to cook actual food and take it? 

S-I can make potato salad, Mulder. Everyone can make potato salad. 

M-I learn more about you each and every day. You really are a flower with layers and layers of petals to peel away. 

She opens the fridge and it is completely stocked with what I assume are normal family foods. I reach around her and grab a bottle of Heineken. I press the cold glass against a small sliver of skin that is exposed when she reaches for celery and mayonnaise. She yelps and pushes it away. 

S-I’m still armed, Mulder. Don’t push me. I’ll be a widow by 5 p.m. 

I pop the top on my beer and take a long, much needed drink. 

M-I’m going to shower and change. You do this wife work, okay? 

She throws a stalk of celery at me, and unlike the post-it from early, she makes contact with my chest. It bounces from my chest and lands on the counter with an almost inaudible thud. I pick it up and take a bite, thank her, and head towards the master suite. 

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Dinner was somewhat successful in creeping me out. I am pretty sure this is where the idea for the Stepford wives was born. The women were all dressed similarly, in knee length skirts, designer heels, and silk camisoles classically covered in cashmere cardigans. The husbands all looked like they were either just starting or just finishing a game of golf. This pink Lacoste polo was a great investment. 

We managed to fake our way through the night; I took advantage of the situation and kept touching my beautiful wife, Laura. I have to confess, this is the ideal situation to indulge in unwarranted touching, and I don’t miss out on any hand holding, “the hand to the small of the back” leading, and “arms around her waist when I approach greetings”. If she is suspicious, she doesn’t bring it up. She assumes I am doing my best to blend, and I let her assume that. 

We are getting ready for bed. The ‘his and her’ sinks are a blessing. She also packed two tubes of toothpaste. I brush my teeth, taking small glances at her in the mirror as she washes her face. Her skin is so beautiful, like a china doll. 

S-So, I did realize that there is a largely obvious lack of children in this community. And when I even started to ask about it, I was shut down. I find it hard to believe no one here has or doesn’t at least want children. 

I nod, agreeing with her observation. 

M-Do you think the children are being kept somewhere else, or that this is just a place that doesn’t allow procreation? 

S-You can’t keep people from…procreating…Mulder. But you can keep them from having children. The question being are these couples eliminating children before birth or after? And are they doing it by force or willingly? 

I lean against the vanity and cross my arms across my chest. 

M-So you think maybe these couples are being forced to terminate their pregnancies? 

S-Or that someone is delivering healthy babies and taking them away, maybe to sell to people wanting to adopt or…

M-Or they drown them in the river like a litter of barn kittens? 

Scully’s face distorts in disgust. 

S-That’s a horrible thought, Mulder. 

M-Well, that’s the mystery we need to figure out. I guess you can join the knitting club and I will blow the dust off my golf clubs. 

She reaches over and wipes a tiny dot of toothpaste from my bare chest. I pray that the flannel of my pajama bottoms remain flat. Why do her hands elicit my body to react? I can be in shock, bleeding from the head, and teetering the line between life and death, but still my heart races and my skin flushes every single time she touches me.

S-I’m terrible at most things domestic, I can’t imagine I’ll be able to knit anything, not even a potholder. 

M-My golf skills are probably on par with your knitting, no pun intended. I have a feeling after our prospective activities expose us as frauds, we won’t be assigned to undercover domesticity for a while. 

Scully’s hand brushes against my chest again, lingering for a brief second where the toothpaste had been. I feel goosebumps cover my chest and arms, my heart-rate increases. My hand covers hers and I move her open palm close to my heart and hold it there. Her eyes search mine for an explanation, but I don’t have one. I just want her to feel the pounding of my heart. I want her to know that she affects me. I want her to know so many things, but I can’t open my mouth and speak. We stand there, silent, and I feel the slightest tremble in her hand. Her lips part, as if she is going to speak, but all that escapes is a tiny gasp. She pulls her hand away and turns to leave the bathroom. 

S-Goodnight, Mulder. 

And she disappears into the darkness of the bedroom. 

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Day three…and we are knee deep in our investigation. A couple we met on night one tried in vain to reach out to us, to tell us something, and now they are missing. We have dinner tonight with Mark Slaughter and his wife Calla. He is one of the largest financial contributors to this community and is also the second in command as far as the housing association is concerned. I am reading through some paperwork, making mental notes about the couple, waiting for Scully to exit the shower so I can update her on what I’ve learned. I hear the shower being turned off and the glass door open and shut. I imagine my partner standing naked, water droplets racing down the curves of her body, pooling on the floor. There is a tension that has developed between us, one that didn’t exist when we were in Arcadia. I wish I knew what was happening—were we getting closer? The first night, when I held her hand against my chest, ended with her turning away, saying goodnight. 

Last night, however, when I was lying in bed, counting the books on the shelves in the guestroom, I heard a knock. It was so quiet; I thought I dreamt it. But then it came again, a little louder. I sat up in bed, telling her to come in. She opened the door, slipped in, and shut the door back. I ask her if she was okay, if something had happened, what was wrong. She didn’t answer me, just made her way to the edge of the bed. She lingered, still having said nothing. I pulled the blankets back, inviting her to join me. She crawled into bed next to me, and I tucked the blankets around us. Several minutes past before she found my hand under the sheets, and once she did, she pulled my arm around her. I held her close, committing every sensation to memory; the way her body fit perfectly against mine, the smell of her citrus shampoo, and the soft skin of her stomach underneath my fingertips. Neither of us said a word, probably because neither one of us knew what to say, or could make sense of what was happening. But I held her all night, woke up next to her. She felt me stir and just as quietly and quickly as she had entered my bed the night before, she had exited. I came downstairs to find her dressed, pouring two cups of coffee. It was like nothing had ever happened. 

I look up when the bathroom door opens, and Scully crosses the bedroom in a navy silk robe, opening the closet door, carefully selects an outfit for dinner. 

S-So, who are we meeting tonight? Another childless picture of marital bliss? 

M-Actually, it looks like Calla had a child from a previous marriage. However, it looks like that child was never on any application or paperwork when the couple applied to live here six years ago. Her first husband is listed as deceased and it looks like Mark moved up the ranks pretty quickly here. 

S-It is possible the child lives with family or maybe was put in foster care. Maybe Mark didn’t want to raise another man’s child. It happens. 

M-That doesn’t make much sense to me. But I guess I am a normal human being. If you had a child, I would be more than happy to step up, teach him everything he needed to know about life, like why the Knicks are amazing and how to throw the perfect curve ball. 

Scully smiles and I wonder if she realizes I made myself the husband, or more accurately, her husband in this scenario. A man can only hope that she finds this endearing, even better would be if she found this plausible. 

S-I guess this imaginary child is a boy. What if it was a girl, Mulder, what then? 

M-Then I would treat her like the beautiful princess she is, like her mother. I would teach her how to throw the perfect curve ball and how to break a man’s nose that was coming on too strong. 

She likes this answer. She walks over to me, places a hand on my cheek, and leans down and places a soft kiss on my forehead. I want to tell her I would take care of an entire soccer team if that’s what it took for her kisses. But I refrain. I take the simple gesture and stash it away with the other moments I’ve come to obsess over. She goes back into the bathroom to get dressed, and I am left alone, head spinning. 

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We walk hand in hand away from the Slaughter home. Dinner revealed very little, but Scully and I both had the feeling we were under just as much suspicion as they were. Calla hardly spoke for herself and became even more resigned when Scully asked if they wanted children. Mark answered “No” so quickly, with such harshness, that the rest of the dinner was essentially one word pleasantries. I told myself that the couple would most likely be watching us leave, and as soon as the door closed behind us, I took Scully’s hand in mine, held it tightly. 

S-She isn’t given much space to speak. I don’t think her child is with family. I’m not even sure that he is alive. And I think they both had something to do with the death of her first husband. 

M-Maybe, but for what purpose? Why implement a childless community? And do people know that this is the plan when they move in…or is it more ominous? 

S-I don’t know. What a sad way of life? To make the conscious choice to not want children…to an extent that you either murder or give them away? Who would do that? I…I wish I had the choice to make. 

I look at Scully’s profile. I see the unmistakable essence of pain in her features. Her choice to be or not be a mother was taken away from her. I would do anything to change that. I know she doesn’t outwardly blame me, but she doesn’t have to, I blame myself. My quest took away her most basic right as a woman. I squeeze her hand tighter. We are out of sight of the Slaughter’s, but I don’t release her. And she doesn’t pull away. 

M-I’m sorry, Scully. I know this case is turning out to be a lot more emotional…personal…than we thought. 

She squeezes my hand back, but doesn’t say anything. Our ‘house’ is just ahead. The sounds of the night surround us; crickets and cicadas. We make it to our door and I unlock it, swing it open for her to enter. She reluctantly drops my hand as she walks into the foyer. She turns, waiting for me to enter. I step inside and shut the front door. We stand facing each other in the dimly lit entryway. Scully looks stunning in a lavender sweater and black skirt and I reach out and touch her shoulder. 

M-You can always talk to me, Scully, about anything. I’m here. 

S-I know, Mulder. I know you would…do anything for me. 

I nod, even though “anything” seems like such an inadequate description for what I would do to make her happy. She moves closer to me and when she is within inches, she stands on tiptoe and kisses my mouth. It is innocent, sweet, and lasts only a few seconds. But it is enough to make me dizzy. I feel slightly intoxicated, even though I chose the sparkling water option at dinner. Just as quickly as it happened, it is over, and she is gone, halfway up the steps, and way too far from me. 

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I wake up with a start, my heart is pounding. I hear Scully, hushing me, while she slips into the bed beside me. I left the door open tonight, before getting in bed. And here she is, in black satin shorts with a matching black satin bra. I cannot form any actual words. I let her push me onto my back, feel her body on top of mine. I know she feels me, really feels me, become hard beneath her. The cotton of my boxer brief does little to hide what she’s doing to me, but I hope Scully was hoping for this reaction. Her satin covered breasts are against my chest, her hair falls like a curtain over our faces. She finds my mouth in the dark and kisses me deeply; long, hard, bruising, intense contact. Her mouth opens, and my tongue plunges into hers, tasting and exploring every part of her. My hands locate the clasp of her bra, which I quickly conquer and remove, the weight of her breasts now flush against my bare skin. She is grinding against my cotton-clad erection, and I literally try to think about anything other than how fucking amazing it feels. I could easily come from her movements, proving to be another level of disappointing, but I hold out, barely. I firmly grasp her hips, stopping her, and she moans and tries to resume her movements. I use my muscles, the ones that were previously in jelly mode, to flip her onto her back. I’ve lost most of my patience with clothing at this point, and rip her shorts off, quickly followed by my boxers. I kiss my way down her body, lingering a bit longer on her breasts than I had intended, finally arriving at a small patch of red curls between her legs. I lick and suck, suck and lick, already addicted to the smell and taste of her. I ascribe it to the sweetest, juiciest summer peach, and would happily forgo all foods and subsist off of Scully’s pussy for the rest of my life. I add this to the list of things I want to tell her, because I’m too afraid words may break the spell she is under. Her fingers dig into my shoulders and she pulls me into her. I am excited she is so excited. I feel like a god and I stare up at her face as I continue to lap at her folds. She is perfect. I stop the feast, wanting to feel more of her, and she lifts her hips to meet my own. Her small hand teases the head of my cock and I grab her hand, holding it above her head. With my free arm, I hold her still so I can enter her, and her tight, hot center is what dreams are made of, or at least what my dreams are made of. I’m only a couple of thrusts in and I am ready to confess my love, propose marriage, and ask her to have my babies because if she wants babies we will find a way to have beautiful Scully babies. The sensations are indescribable, but if forced to describe them, they are earth shattering, amazing (if amazing means I would gladly offer my life to experience this just one more time), and intense (if intense means my entire body is trembling and responding on levels a human body has never experienced before). She scratches her nails down my back and grabs my ass and pulls me deeper inside her. You win, Scully. I will never be capable of making love to another woman in my entire life. I promise. 

S-I am close, Mulder, please…please come inside of me. Tell me you are coming…

I truly doubt my ability to string a sentence together, but for her, I’ll give it my best. 

M-Coming…Jesus…

Yes, I know, but that really was my best. She calls out my name over and over, and only Scully can make my name sound like it is being sung by an angel. I want to laugh, cry, hold her, kiss her, and tell her everything that is in my heart, while staying completely still and silent at the same time. I’m an emotional mess. I fall back on the pillows and she curls up next to me, kisses my chest, and wipes sweat, or maybe tears, from my cheeks. 

M-Scully, I…

S-I know, Mulder. Me, too. 

I love you, that is what I was trying to say. And I can only hope that the “me, too” was in line with that. 

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Day four…I wake up alone. I’m still completely naked, so I assume that last night wasn’t a dream. I take a deep breath in and smell Scully, her scent is all around me, on my hands, on my pillows, in the sheets, on my tongue. Another bit of evidence that we were together in this bed last night. I throw the covers back and find my boxers, pull them on, and grab a t-shirt and hurry downstairs. I feel panic, though the exact source behind this feeling, I can’t work out. 

I walk in the kitchen to find her standing near the toaster, coffee cup in one hand, wearing my t-shirt. Yes, that is my t-shirt. I stand a little straighter, proud that my t-shirt is on my Scully. She turns to me, smiles, almost shyly. She pulls the hem of my shirt down but it just rides back up. I knew I loved that t-shirt for a reason. 

S-I was making bagels…hungry? 

I don’t respond with words, I walk over to her, take her face in my hands, and kiss her. 

S-Good morning to you, too.

I’m so happy to find her here, in this kitchen, and smiling. My heart feels full. It is happy and warm and full of love. I ignore the fact that we are on a case and that we aren’t in our home. I just want to pretend for a few more seconds that this is our life. That I get to rush downstairs to a half-dressed Scully, to find her making bagels, and I get to kiss her good morning, that I get to touch her because we are together, really together. I feel a tiny tear tickle my cheek—which isn’t the manliest response—but I’m deliriously happy. I hug her tightly and she starts giggling, which is another angelic sound. 

M-I’m just so happy you are here. And that you were with me last night…I was half convinced I had dreamt it. 

S-Where else would I be? We have a case to solve…

I pull away from her, that sense of panic creeping back. 

S-You didn’t dream anything, Mulder. Although it kind of felt like the stuff dreams are made of. 

She pulled me back to her, kissing me. 

S-So, I called Skinner and asked him to contact the families of the couple that went missing. I thought it would be better if he started the search. I don’t think he is ready for us to blow our cover yet. 

I wasn’t ready to blow our cover either, I thought, but for very different reasons.

M-What is on the docket for today? 

S-I invited Calla to go shopping. I’ll mention we are thinking about starting a family. See what happens. 

The utter desire for reality to become fiction or fiction to become reality overtook all rational thought. Which says a lot—I chase aliens for god sake. 

M-I think I will take a little jog down the street and see if I can find any clues in the house—I should be able to tell if they left willingly or not. 

Scully agrees. She takes another bite of her bagel and hands me the rest. 

S-I’m going to shower and get ready for ‘girl’ time. I’m afraid I’ve lost some of my feminine touch. 

M-Trust me, you are all woman. And you touch just like a woman should. 

She grins at this and kisses me before heading upstairs to shower. This is the best morning I’ve had in a long time. Slash that. This is the best morning I have ever had in my entire life. 

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Everything the couple owned was still in the house. Nothing was taken. All of their travel documents, financial records, personal information, and even their drivers’ licenses were in the house. The whole situation felt menacing and I thought about calling Scully and telling her not to mention starting a family. Clearly such revelations weren’t taken lightly in this gated hell. Calling her might be too obvious. I send her a text instead: “Be careful. Don’t mention having babies, unless she isn’t talking. But be careful.” I pocketed my cell phone and headed out the back door. I sneak my way back towards the front of the house. I looked around to make sure I hadn’t been seen. The streets were chillingly silent. I began down the sidewalk, towards our property, when I heard footsteps behind me. My first instinct was to turn around, but I opted to pick up my pace instead. 

G-Hey, Rob! 

I turn around and offer a smile and a wave. 

M-Sorry! I thought you may have been trying to pass me; I am on the last leg of my jog…

I feign breathlessness, not knowing how much he saw. 

G-I was trying to catch up with ya…see how you and Laura were adjusting to the neighborhood. My name’s Gary…I met you guys at dinner the first night…

M-Right! We love it. Something about a shopping for a new house makes Laura friskier than usual. I guess we might start that family sooner than I thought. 

I smile and Gary’s face changes. He doesn’t seem neighborly anymore, but apprehensive. I decide to push on. Scully shouldn’t be the only one throwing the idea around. 

M-Although it doesn’t seem like a kid would have many playmates around here, huh? 

G-This isn’t that kind of place, Rob. I thought that was obvious. Why isn’t it obvious?

M-What, Gary? What is it that everyone is not saying? 

Gary shakes his head, clearly agitated. 

G-You’ll see soon enough. They all do. 

M-That sounds a bit like a threat. 

He shrugs and turns to go back up the sidewalk.

I pull my phone back out of my pocket. No word back from Scully. I text her again: “Please, just let me know you are okay, please.” My phone chirps almost immediately. I look at the screen: “Be home soon.” I let out a sigh of relief. I didn’t even realize I had been holding my breath. 

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We are sharing Chinese takeout, drinking chardonnay, and reading over some paperwork Skinner had sent over. I know this is work, but it feels comfortable and homey and right. She taps the top sheet that shows no bank activity on the missing couple’s bank accounts. 

S-Why get rid of them? There are no records anywhere suggesting she was pregnant, or that they were even trying to conceive. 

M-Maybe they learned something about what happens if you are pregnant or trying to be. I feel sure that they wanted to warn us. Or tell us something. 

S-I did, too, Mulder. But I have to wonder why they would have risked their own safety and ours for that matter. 

She takes a sip of wine and shuffles through the paperwork, pulling the medical records out, placing them on top. She reads through each line, making sure she hasn’t missed anything. I love her, I think, as I watch her. I love everything about her, professionally and personally. I could watch her read for hours and that’s how I know I am crazy in love with her. Her eyes drift up to mine and she blushes, the faintest of blushes. 

S-Yes, can I help you? 

Yes. You can marry me. You can love me for the rest of my life, because I know damn well that’s how long I’m going to love you. I’ll give you any and every thing you want. I wish I had spent less time as your partner and more time as your lover. I was born to love you, Scully. Don’t you know? Don’t you realize how perfect we are together? 

M-Just watching you…

S-I think this can wait until tomorrow, what do you think? 

She closes the files, straightens them into a neat stack. She takes the last gulp of wine from her glass and sets our dishes in the sink. She walks over, hits the lights, and the kitchen is swallowed in darkness. She walks over to me and finds my hands in the dark. 

S-Come to bed with me, Mulder.

I surprise her by lifting her into my arms. She laughs and wraps her arms around my neck, nestles into my chest, as I carry her up the steps. Yes, I will always come to bed with you, Scully. 

Always. 

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ToBeContinued….

Part two is in the final stages...this story is for Julie! Because she has kept me motivated to keep writing. Thanks, love!


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